


Inspiration

by Ulqueleh (Ulquii)



Series: Fictober 2019 [11]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Art School, Alternate Universe - College/University, Awkward Crush, Crushes, M/M, Painting, Pining Keith (Voltron), Shiro (Voltron) is a Good Friend, Shiro helps
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:40:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27019690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ulquii/pseuds/Ulqueleh
Summary: "I met someone," he admitted, his voice muffled against his palms, “And I can't stop thinking about him.”—Or that one where Keith has a crush on cute boy with cute blue eyes.
Relationships: Keith/Lance (Voltron), Past unrequited Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Series: Fictober 2019 [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1613635
Comments: 12
Kudos: 71





	Inspiration

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, klance again. I'm not even sorry.

He had been surprised to hear noise inside his study, especially as it was close to midnight. He approached the door cautiously and pushed it carefully, trying to see through the slot what was going on. He felt a bit of relief to see his slim figure, with his back to the door, but concern filled him again as he saw him move with such fury and despair, the brush flying over the canvas with skill and precision and leaving lines and colors in its path, painting something he could not recognize. 

It was not the first time he had found him like this, being a frequent situation to see when he was young and tormented by nightmares from his past; missing shadows, extinguished lights, fires, stars. But that was behind him after several years, having bled all the problems out of his heart and opened up to his advice, to his honest affection. 

He felt a pang in his chest, believing that he had suffered from nightmares again and that was what had him there, relieving himself with the paint, but, when he opened the door and saw the more complete situation, he realized that it was something totally different. 

The canvas showed different combinations of blues, with white lines and dots, briefly taking his breath away. Apparently, he still had not finished capturing what he wanted, because there were still spaces on the edges that had no color, although they were carelessly drawn in pencil. It was as if anxiety had overtaken him and he hadn't been able to resist painting blue before the image faded from his mind. 

He blinked, puzzled, and after looking at the canvas for a few more seconds he could recognize what it was he was painting. 

"Ah." 

He saw him jump, the brush falling from his hand and making another smudge on the wooden floor, and he turned around, his expression of surprise stained by the same paint that colored his fingertips. 

"Shiro..." he sighed, dropping his shoulders, and relief returning the color to his face, "What are you doing here?" 

He smirked at him, crossing his arms. 

"As far as I remember, this is my study," he explained amusedly, and saw him shrug. 

"You gave me permission to use it," he justified himself and gave a laugh at the tantrum tone. 

"I know, but I'd prefer more decent hours," he said, going to his desk to drop off the assignments his students turned in that afternoon. 

"It's not always like this, and you know it,” He heard him snort. 

"I know," he said again, approaching him and noticing how he became restless again, his eyes shifting nervously to the canvas, “What are you working on?” 

He stepped in front of him, blocking his way, and raised an eyebrow, watching his face turn red all the way to his ears. 

"I-I... uh...” 

He looked down at the floor, playing with the blue-stained sleeves of his sweater, and shook his head, frowning. 

"It's nothing," he lied after hesitating for a moment how to continue, but obviously he wasn't going to believe that. 

“Nothing?” he asked, to which he nodded effusively. 

"Absolutely nothing," he insisted, giving him a fleeting glance before looking back at the ground. 

He waited a few seconds, hoping that he would tell the truth himself, but after not seeing that he was going to do it, he looked at the painting carefully again, thinking of some subtle way to make him speak. 

"It doesn't seem like anything," he commented, tilting his head and putting his hand to his chin, pretending to think, “It has the same intensity of the paintings that you made inspired by feelings.” 

He started, swallowing nervously, and shrugged, glancing at the canvas. 

"S-seriously?" 

He made an affirming noise and waited a bit for it to settle before speaking again. 

“What feeling were you inspired by this time?” 

He heard him take a slow breath and take it out with the same speed, his fingers still playing with his sleeves and staining them more until the red color that characterized him disappeared. He watched him during those silent seconds in which he seemed to doubt what to answer, but his flushed face and nervous posture easily expressed what he had in mind. 

"A-admiration, perhaps?" he murmured, his gaze going everywhere but on his. 

He hummed thoughtfully and visibly relaxed. 

"Admiration..." he repeated, leaning down to see the painting in more detail. 

"I'm not really sure," he explained, scratching the back of his neck and running his fingers through his hair, “I just...” 

He opened his mouth and closed it, grimacing, and shook his head, his blush rising a little more. 

"I've never felt like this," he confessed with a sigh, "and I didn't know what to do other than... you know, paint." 

He nodded, still watching the swirling blues, and smiled slightly. 

"Admiration..." he said again, making him turn to look at him, "As how you felt for me?" 

He saw him blink, his gaze lost in nothingness, and his brows furrowed, his brow furrowing. 

"I..." he began, "It's similar, but it's not...” 

"Keith," he said, making him shrink, his eyes fleeing in terror from his, "what's wrong?" 

He took a deep breath and then let out a heavy sigh, shaking his head. 

"I must have gone crazy," he said to himself, running his hands through his hair, "This can't be happening...” 

“Keith?” he called, and turned to him suddenly, his expression so pale he seemed like he saw a ghost. 

“Remember when I had a stupid crush on you?” He asked, stumbling over his words, and he blinked in response. Wow, maybe he had seen a ghost, “I think... I think I...” 

"It wasn't stupid," he murmured, approaching him and taking him by the shoulders, “Your feelings never are, Keith. They were misguided, that's all.” 

He shook his head, covering his face with his hands, and frowned, noticing how his ears reddened much more. 

"I met someone," he admitted, his voice muffled against his palms, “And I can't stop thinking about him.” 

He smiled, touched, and glanced at the canvas, thinking. 

"How did it happen?" It occurred to him to ask, and he sighed in exasperation, surprising him. 

"I threw his drink on him at Allura's party," he said, dropping his shoulders and his hands, his eyes staring up at the ceiling, “He was so upset and all I could do was stare into his eyes. God, he has the bluest eyes I've ever seen, Shiro. I am doomed.” 

Typical of him to see it as matter of life and death. 

"I finished all my blue pencils over the weekend," he continued, closing his eyes and holding his forehead, “Today in the morning I finished all the pastels that could resemble the color of his eyes and-” 

"You had to come paint here," he completed, giving a fleeting glance at his possibly empty blue paint tubes. 

"I needed to paint it," he insisted, “I think about him so much I can't sleep.” 

"You won't be able to sleep if you're here painting either," he observed intelligently and got a snort in response. 

“I don't know what to do...” 

He sighed, nodding, and then squeezed his shoulders. 

“Did you try to talk to him” 

His mouth opened and closed several times. 

"I don't know what I could talk about," he replied, rolling his eyes, and he pretended to think it over. 

"You could apologize for throwing the drink on him," he proposed, and sighed heavily. 

"He sure hates me for that." 

He watched him silently and shrugged. 

"Might hate you less if you apologize," he explained, and saw him snort. 

"Yeah, right," he replied sarcastically. 

“I'm serious.” 

He saw him think about it for a moment, grimacing, and then nodded. 

"Good," he concluded, tousling his hair and making a movement toward the door, “Now, how about we go?” 

And even though he wanted him to answer yes, he knew he would refuse. 

"I'm sorry, Shiro," he apologized, shaking his head, “I need to finish this.” 

He followed the gesture he made with his hand to the canvas and nodded in understanding. If he sent him to bed unfinished, he would stay up all night thinking about it. 

"No problem," he said with a smile, walking to the door, “Just remember you have class tomorrow morning.” 

“Maybe the professor will let me go?” he hesitated aloud, and he glared at him over his shoulder. 

"Maybe the professor will revoke your rights to use his study and blue paint," he replied, watching his mouth twist, “See you tomorrow, Keith.” 

“See you tomorrow.” 

He closed the door, staying in the hall, and sighed, shaking his head. 

Lance McClain, huh? 

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject) (including the [LLF Comment Builder](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/commentbuilder)), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates responses, including:
> 
>   * Short comments
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>   * Questions
>   * “<3” as extra kudos
>   * Reader-reader interaction
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